Little Marshmallows
by Ryan2
Summary: Like the title total fluff, but a scene I always wondered about—what on earth would Dawn do if she found out about Crush?


Little Marshmallows  
  
Summary: Like the title total fluff, but a scene I always wondered about- what on earth would Dawn do if she found out about Crush? Rating: The wacky world of G Distribution: ask and ye shall receive Disclaimer: Joss is god, he made the toys; I just play with 'em. (N.B. Dawn is a little confused about the literature and culture of the 1880's-but indulge her, she's only fifteen)  
  
.I'm going to kill everyone who was ever mean to me." And Harmony slammed the door of his crypt before he could even say-- "Don't have the heart to tell you, pet, how quickly that pales."  
  
Although it hadn't, not at first. Early on, revenge counted for about ninety percent of the thrills. He'd find them when they were sleeping eating sewing laughing, especially when they were laughing, those pansy- assed little buggers and then it was like heaven, watching that dark tide of fear wash over their eyes. By that time they knew him, you see, and yet he'd still keep coming-bit of verse, bit of dinner, bit of enjoying their fear before he saw the life flee from their eyes.  
  
That he understood. Death. Fear. Anger. Revenge  
  
Now love, love was another thing entirely.  
  
The door of his crypt detonated inward and he rubbed out his cigarette on the nearest coffin lid.  
  
"Damn it Harmony, if you are going to come back in here at least bloody knock-and you can forget about staying."  
  
With that he was pushed from behind into the far wall of the crypt.  
  
Instantly his mind assessed the threat, a strong push but not too strong- not vampire, not slayer, no stake so the danger was minimal, it was probably.  
  
He turned.  
  
"Dawn?!?"  
  
He hadn't expected the Nibbelt-Scoobie maybe, Giles probably, dear-old- pseudo-dad was probably going to turn him into a Zen garden for tonight's little activities-but not her sister. Not Dawn.  
  
"Do you have any idea how incredibly stupid it is for you to be here at this time of night?"  
  
"What are you going to do?" Dawn shot back "chain me to a wall and declare your undying love for me?"  
  
"Bloody hell," Spike muttered and lit up another fag, "so you heard about that did you?"  
  
"What I want to know is are you totally psycho or just that socially inept?"  
  
There was no way Spike wanted to have this conversation. First that boy in the Bronze, he looked like he was Dawn's age, maybe as old as the slayer. He really didn't even want to drain him-and what was that about, was he sod off his rocker? After a steady diet of pig's blood for over two months here he was being offered a four-course meal and he didn't even want to take it. And he was just about to wimp out of it, make up some excuse, walk the stupid little entrée back to his car and then he looked at her, at Dru and he could see it. He could see it in her eyes, "Spike's gone soft, he has." He could see it on her lips: that name, that name he bloody well swore he would never hear spoken again, screamed yes, mouthed on the lips of the dying yes, but never ever spoken in scorn the way she spoke it, the way they all used to speak it. And there it was, just a whisper, a curl, not even formed-but he changed before she could say it. Bit into that boy like it was old times again; because there was no way he was turning back into William, pathetic-whiny-nancy little William who couldn't even walk into a room without feeling all those eyes digging into the back of his head, scared-of-his-own shadow William.  
  
.and now here was Dawn, and she was standing there with her arms all crossed looking adorable and pissed and he was scared of her. Scared, of a fifteen-year-old girl. So scared that he could feel himself fumbling for his fags because the one he lit was already gone. He'd been silent this whole time just sucking it down, and now he needed something to do with his hands, and she was still looking at him, just waiting for him to tell her he was either totally psychotic or, or, he was.  
  
"Spike, look, I know you can't hurt me, and you know you can't get rid of me, and Buffy's probably told you how annoying I am, and yeah, she's a pain in the butt, but she's my sister and you better not be all psycho-stalker about her any more."  
  
And with that she plunked down in his bloody arm chair.  
  
"Urrrruuugggh!" It was more a groan of despair than a shout, but she started anyway and that pissed him off more than anything.  
  
"Look Bit, my last girlfriend was Dru, Drusilla, evil vampire Drusilla, loony, totally insane Drusilla- what I did tonight would have really impressed her-hell, it would have made her all weepy and tender like that time with the baby.." Spike looked at Dawn who was paling slightly, "umm, well, nevermind."  
  
"Okay, fine, so your ex was the poster child for nutso-you aren't that old Spike, you had to have had girlfriends back when you were, you know, alive." She leaned forward eagerly, "It was England right, all Jane Austen- y with the top hats and the calling cards and those cool dresses where you can be bloated and not have it matter at all, but things weren't that different."  
  
Dawn had herself on the arm of Mr. Darcy (who was looking more like Spike than Colin Firth) when she looked up and saw Spike looking anywhere but at her, fumbling with his lighter.  
  
"Oh my god, you didn't, did you-have girlfriends I mean."  
  
There was no way Spike was going to let that go-his image was sacked enough for one night.  
  
"I did so. I mean, it was different, back then, you didn't really date."  
  
"Really" Dawn was all curious now, his demotion from friend to stalker temporarily forgotten, "cool."  
  
"Right, cool. " Sure-- cool, sitting in a corner pining after the love of your life. Hoping she would throw you a bloody crumb, a glance, a look back.. Only to have her rip out your heart and shred it in front of a room full of peers of the realm, and that cowboy, that silly American twat with that idiotic mustache. Damn it, he hadn't wanted to think about Cecily-not tonight and what was that stupid git doing with his hot plate?  
  
"This is just totally disgusting, do you know that? Don't the undead own 409?"  
  
"What in the deepest pit of the darkest hell dimension are you doing with my sodding hot plate?"  
  
"Making hot chocolate," Dawn dug around in her backpack, "the kind with little marshmallows."  
  
Spike stalked over to her and grabbed the backpack- "Look, love, I'm evil, little girls like you are an after dinner mint, I just chained your sister to my basement wall, and my idea of a romantic evening out is killing two vamps who listen to the Dave Matthews band, so why" the backpack shook with each word, "in hell" shake, "are you making me" poor Digimon's head almost came off "chocolate?"  
  
It looked a little incongruous, Dawn thought-those short black nails denting animated cartoon penguin nose. Spike didn't even notice. Dawn loved that, how he'd be in one of those situations where anyone else would seem stupid, and just be-cool. Dawn was still working on cool. It was something more than clothes, or gel pens, or friends, it was what Kirsten had, in the locker room when they were all wearing those tacky Sunnydale- yellow gym shorts and everyone was standing around like a big dork, except for her, she was still cool. And Dawn was so caught up in never being cool that she almost missed the quiet voice saying, ".I love those little marshmallows,"  
  
Dawn smiled, grabbed the dented pot of water boiling on the hotplate.  
  
".it about the only thing that makes America great, well, that and punk rock and Doublemeat nuggets, the ones with the hot and spicy dipping sauce."  
  
The water covered the chocolate, and the little marshmallows began to swirl around the top like a tiny captured hurricane in the center of the pot. Dawn made the "yuck" face. "Doublemeat is so gross-its tiny baby cows, and chickens, little fuzzy chickens, how on earth can you eat that."  
  
Dawn stole a glance at the vampire, who was making exaggerated fang motions with his hands in front of his face, ".oh."  
  
"Its not exactly the life choice for vegans now love."  
  
Dawn's face changed, she looked nervous for a second, spun around, lifted the pot off the hot plate and turned back, "Do you have mugs?"  
  
Spike dug around under the couch and pulled out a yellow mug with "Kiss the Librarian" written in black letters on the front.  
  
That did it. First her sister and now. Dawn stormed up to him and grabbed the mug, "You stole that from Giles!"  
  
"That hurt that did-" and he did look hurt, as vulnerable as he looked when she was yelling at him before. when he lit his cigarette his hands shook. "Watcher-boy gave it to me when I cleared out of his flat. and anyway, it's the only one I have."  
  
Another "eww" face, "well, I suppose it's okay-so long as you don't have mono."  
  
"Love, I sleep through days all the time, being undead is mono."  
  
She poured the contents of the pot into the yellow mug-the little marshmallow clouds went in first, and then chocolate covered them, like the sun setting.  
  
Dawn still looked nervous.  
  
"Look, why don't you just spit it out. You've my only good mug, and Buffy ruined my best manacles, so there's really no chance I'm gonna hurt you."  
  
"What was your name?"  
  
"Huh?" He wasn't expecting that: "What are you thinking wanting my sister?" "I hate you and never want to see you again." "Buffy 'll dust you tomorrow." Those he was prepared for.  
  
"I mean, your real name. I know my Mom had lingering 60's issues, but I can't imagine Spike topping the top ten baby names list for 18-whatever-it- was."  
  
But his name? So fast he could barely believe he was going to say it but he was, it was just coming out of his mouth in a rush, "William-William- Strachey-William-okay? It was William."  
  
Dawn made a face as if she was rolling it around in her mouth a few times- trying to reconcile "William" with the leather-clad bleached vampire in front of her. Some things just take time-she handed over the hot chocolate after taking an exploratory sip, "Okay, then, so why did you become a vampire? What makes a guy named William wake up one day and decide to erase the distance between friends and take-out?"  
  
Something occurred to Spike, as he listened, holding the yellow mug between his black-tipped fingers. Perhaps he could actually make her understand. There was something about this girl, for the first time in a long time, hell, since he watched his mother die, he felt like he wanted to protect someone just for the sake of protecting them, connect to someone just for the sake of connecting. For over a 120 years, every choice he'd made, everyone he'd loved had something to offer him, something in it for him. And yet here this stupid little girl was, and he didn't want her, didn't worship her, didn't need money, or blood, or pain, and he still liked having her around. Still wanted, somehow desperately now, for her to understand him.  
  
Perhaps. and so he asked her, standing there in front of her with his eyes on the wall behind her, "What did it feel like for you, ya know, when you found out about who you were?"  
  
Dawn sank down into the armchair, small hands gripping the torn upholstery, eyes fastened on the stone floor of the crypt. Her voice, when it finally came, almost vanished into the dusty air, "It felt like nothing was real, like I wasn't real. That I was just walking through the world and no one could see me. Like I was created to be invisible, and that everything I had always believed in was just dust, just something they tell you, you know, because they are supposed to tell you."  
  
A hand on her arm, and the mug was resting on the chair beside her. Dawn took a sip, grinned, passed it back. "Why do you even want to know, I mean, you're the only one whose ever asked."  
  
He looked almost embarrassed, "Well, you know, you wanted to know why I, and I thought, stupid in retrospect, it's just. The night before I became a vampire I believed that if you loved enough, if you were good and true and bloody sodding nice all the time, eventually it would happen: friends, glory, the girl. People would look at you and see something-but they never did. It was only after, after Dru, after I bloody died that people ever saw me. They saw a monster, ya, maybe. But at least they saw me."  
  
Another cigarette butt fell to the floor of the crypt and he slammed the mug down on the nearest coffin lid hard enough to splash some chocolate on the white marble effigy. It looked like a scar.  
  
"I am. Allright? I am that bloody inept. I have no idea what to do and it just, just." Dawn isn't surprised when he punches the mug off the coffin lid, shattering it into a yellow, muddy sunburst on the dusty floor. And she isn't surprised when he sinks down, his head in his hands, almost whispering: "I just don't know what to do," because she could see it in his eyes, what had been filling them more and more these days: love, and confusion, helplessness, rage, despair:  
  
"I never learned how love, how it works. Dru and I were together for a hundred years and I convinced myself I had learned it all, what people do in the dark, and I loved her, I loved her, but that was just an accessory to her, it wasn't what she needed. So I learned to give her what she wanted, needed but I still don't know, I used to know, but I just don't know."  
  
Dawn just reached into her backpack, pulled out another bottle of water and put the pot back on the hotplate. "I don't know either." and she smiled, just a bit ".I was kinda hoping you could tell me." She stirs intently for a few minutes, "See there's this guy in art class, his name is Kevin and the last time we were sketching still life he told me my apples looked almost real, and he smiled, you know?"  
  
Large eyes met blue vampire squint, as Spike bent down to clean up the pieces of librarian mug on the floor. "We're sort of short on mugs now love, and I know I'm not really such a big bad anymore, but if that wanker doesn't ask you to the sock-hop or whatever it is you do with yourselves, I promise, I'll turn him into a lawn ornament for ya."  
  
Dawn kept stirring the pot, and finally held up the spoon with a grin, "I guess we'll just have to improvise, huh?"  
  
Spike caught himself reaching, for something, anything: cigarette, alcohol, and then thought the better of it. He stared at his hands for a minute, feeling totally at a loss, "I really tossed it with Buffy tonight, didn't I?"  
  
Dawn looked up at him, "Yeah, you really did."  
  
"So what do I do?"  
  
"I guess you just have to take it from her, you know, don't push things."  
  
Spike thought of the Buffy box he passed to Warren and his stomach sank into his combat boots.  
  
"And Spike-I think we are supposed to make mistakes. I mean, it's the first time we've ever done this. "  
  
"You mean love?"  
  
Dawn smiled and stirred more marshmallows into the pot-this time they looked like sunrise, like something white and beautiful, flowers on the muddy ground.  
  
"No, I mean being human." 


End file.
